Page 8 of Tristan’s Temptation

“Right then,” he said. And without another word, he sketched a wave and headed for his car.

He knew it was rude and he could tell his cold departure hurt her feelings but he just couldn’t help it. Another second in her presence—preternaturally aware of her disheveled hair and casual attire, her soft come-hither expression—and he would be tossing her over his shoulder and heading for that bed.

Damn, he thought as he angled his car toward his house—which overlooked hers. His life had just gotten a hell of a lot more complicated.

Shannon knew, the instant she slipped the computer out of the carrying case, it wasn’t hers. Her laptop had a neon-pink smiley face sticker on the top.

This computer was Tristan’s.

A sudden thrill washed through her.

Now, she’d had access to Tristan’s computer before. As his assistant she was often called upon to upload files and organize documents. But she’d never had an opportunity to study his, um, hard drive at length. In private.

In the office, she would never dream of doing what she was about to do.

Driven by an overwhelming urge, she shoved her conscience aside and clicked on his Virtual Life icon, nestled in the corner of the screen. This was a chance to peek at Tristan’s secret self and she couldn’t let it pass her by. It was wrong to do it and she knew it was wrong but her fingers just kept moving. This was a chance to find out more about him, to learn things she would never discover otherwise. She just couldn’t resist.

The program booted up and she quickly reviewed his history, noting he had developed a couple sci-fi instances—where he got to play the captain of an interstellar freighter or survive after being marooned on a dead moon—as well as several fantasy football scenarios. But the one that piqued her interest was the scenario simply named the Office.

It sounded innocuous enough, especially for a man obsessed with his work, but what captured her attention was the frequency with which he’d run this instance. He’d played it daily—every day, in fact, for the last two months—practically since the program had been installed. Every day, including weekends and holidays. No one was that obsessed with their work. Were they?

She clicked on the icon and a password request flashed onto the screen.

Her heart leapt and then settled into a low throb. As far as she knew, the only instances requiring passwords in the game were Jack’s illicit Green Door scenarios. She swallowed heavily and stared at the screen.

Tristan Trillo had designed Green Door scenarios. Dear heavens. He had, virtually, uploaded his sexual fantasies into the game. She shifted restlessly as a sudden dampness washed through her. It occurred to her she could, here and now, discover his deepest, darkest desires.

Dare she?

Why, yes—she grinned to herself—she did.

She typed his all-access password into the box and flinched when it was rejected. Damn. Clearly this was something he wanted no one to have access to.

Of course this only fueled her determination and she spent the next half hour typing in potential passwords. His birthdate. Adam’s birthdate. His mother’s maiden name. The name of his childhood dog. His last girlfriend. His favorite brand of ice cream. The first and last names of every employee. And then, finally, she typed her name.

Her heart stuttered when that last attempt opened the doors to his fantasy world.

She held her breath as the curtain rose on the scene.

Tristan sat at his desk, working as he always did. The door opened and a tawdry version of her—dressed rather like a whore—entered the room. There was some cheesy byplay but it all ended with her on her knees, taking him into her mouth and…dear God.

Shannon sat back and gaped at the screen, shaking.

It was unbelievable. It was gripping. It was fan-fucking-tastic.

Tristan Trillo fantasized about her. Her!

And—she quickly checked his history again—he had done so today! Twice!

As alluring as this prospect was, a much more fascinating realization possessed her. This was but one of twenty or so scenarios stored in his private archives. With mounting excitement, she scanned the other offerings, making a note of each scenario and its frequency. And she noticed several rather captivating trends.

First of all, all the sexy scenarios—all of them—featured a mildly altered rendition of Shannon. Not one other woman. Not Kat or Jenny or Sara. Not even Angelina Jolie. Not anyone else.

Second of all, Tristan Trillo had a kinky side. She would never have expected it.

Her heart stuttered at a scene entitled Bad Girl, which involved a delectable spanking. It made her entire body warm as the girl on the screen—the girl with decidedly familiar features—bent over Tristan’s lap to receive a well-deserved paddling. In another scene, she was tied up to receive his greedy attention and in yet another she featured as a stripper, giving him a lascivious lap dance.

Stunned and more than a little aroused, Shannon wandered out to her patio and glanced up the hill at the darkened house perched on its crest, wondering where he was. What he was doing. Was he thinking about her right now?